me instant
and implicit obedience--in fact he was a gentleman in his way, with far
better manners than many who lay claim to that title. He entered upon
his duties at once, and never did I know him to neglect the most
trifling thing that could add to my satisfaction or comfort. In making
arrangements with him, and in attending to various little matters of
business, the hours slipped rapidly away, and in the afternoon, at the
time appointed, I made my way to Ferrari's studio. I knew it of old--I
had no need to consult the card he had left with me on which the
address was written. It was a queer, quaintly built little place,
situated at the top of an ascending road--its windows commanded an
extensive view of the bay and the surrounding scenery. Many and many a
happy hour had I passed there before my marriage reading some favorite
book or watching Ferrari as he painted his crude landscapes and
figures, most of which I good-naturedly purchased as soon as completed.
The little porch over-grown with star-jasmine looked strangely and
sorrowfully familiar to my eyes, and my heart experienced a sickening
pang of regret for the past, as I pulled the bell and heard the little
tinkling sound to which I was so well accustomed. Ferrari himself
opened the door to me with eager rapidity--he looked excited and
radiant.

"Come in, come in!" he cried with effusive cordiality. "You will find
everything in confusion, but pray excuse it. It is some time since I
had any visitors. Mind the steps, conte!--the place is rather dark just
here--every one stumbles at this particular corner."

So talking, and laughing as he talked, he escorted me up the short
narrow flight of stairs to the light airy room where he usually worked.
Glancing round it, I saw at once the evidences of neglect and
disorder--he had certainly not been there for many days, though he had
made an attempt to arrange it tastefully for my reception. On the table
stood a large vase of flowers grouped with artistic elegance--I felt
instinctively that my wife had put them there. I noticed that Ferrari
had begun nothing new--all the finished and unfinished studies I saw I
recognized directly. I seated myself in an easy-chair and looked at my
betrayer with a calmly critical eye. He was what the English would call
"got up for effect." Though in black, he had donned a velvet coat
instead of the cloth one he had worn in the morning--he had a single
white japonica in his buttonhole--his f